MEET OUR DETECTIVES
Detective Lady Jas:
Mama said she was a ‘dancer’.
And if we’d travelled in polite circles, I might have known that what she did was called burlesque, but hell, we didn’t travel in no ‘po-lite circles’, so I only ever heard it called “the hooch”.
To give Mama her due, she was damn good at what she did. The men who came to see her flaunt her ample charms never went away disappointed. She always left them with their jowls slathering and their trousers stretched to the point of no return; always wanting more... always wanting Mama.
I don’t suppose, looking back, I really understood most of what went on. I was as much boy as girl; shapeless and sexless; unconcerned as I was by buttons and bows. Scuttering between the rows of shuffling, restless men, picking up the coins they tossed at Mama, and the clothes Mama tossed at them, was just a game to a scrap of a child.
But all games come to an end.
Perhaps Mama saw the writing on the wall; perhaps she saw those restless men turning their attentions to something prettier and younger. Whatever it was, one day I was sitting on the steps outside our ramshackle little house, waiting for Mama to finish with one of her ‘special clients’, and the next I was sitting on a train bound for Missouri to go live with a Grandmother I hadn’t even known existed.
I cannot say I shed a tear when Mama put me on that train. Besides she always cried for both of us. Too overcome for words, she kissed me quickly and pushed a slender package into my hands, before turning away into the waiting arms of one of my many ‘uncles’.
(I took a seat away from the windows to avoid the scene Mama was no doubt making)
So with a suitcase full of clothes I had never worn (Mama had decided to splurge on me), with a ticket to a place I had never been, to go live with a woman I had never met, I wondered what strange feeling this was welling up inside of me. I thought perhaps that it was finally sorrow taking it’s hold. But I was wrong... it was relief.
When I got to unwrapping Mama’s parting gift, I found the strangest legacy of all. For what I thought might be a doll, or a ribbon or comb, was not.
No, Mama had gifted me with a stiletto.
To the surprise of the weathered Nun that sat across from me, I held that long thin blade up to the light and smiled. That old girl must’ve seen something in that smile - same thing I s’pose some people see today - because she crossed herself mighty quick and was countin’ on her Rosary beads for the rest of that long train ride.
Needless to say that was only the beginnings of my adventures. That moment was not the making of me. Nor, I admit, am I complete. But it ‘was’ a start. I am no romantic, but how many can say their story started with 'light flickering on a silver blade'?
I may come to tell you the rest of my story. I may not.
All you need to know for now... is that I still carry that stiletto.
Detective Lady Zeugirdor:
Sometimes you block out your childhood, only trying to remember the good times. One thing I remember is Mama telling me to always be a “lady”. She tried to teach me to be polite, dignified, know when to speak or hold my piece, to be engaging with company and make them comfortable. How to be powerful, yet demure. It was also one of the last things she told me.
That day is one a child should forget, yes but I wasn’t a child after that day ended. Mama had been blissful for the past months. She said that she was going to be married. Then we would really be “ladies”. I was 9 years old and maybe didn’t really understand or even care. I was interested in the new clothes and presents given me by Mama’s “suitor”.
He was a handsome man, richly dressed, charming, and witty. He was the type of man everyone loved. That is the irony… everyone did love him or maybe it’s better said he loved everyone, as long as he could get what he wanted from them. I didn’t understand what he wanted from Mama, but he must have gotten it.
Their wedding was the next day and Mama and I were making the final preparations for where I would stay during their honeymoon. The doorbell rang in our small, but nicely furnished home. Mama sent me to answer the summons. I opened it to see him. He asked to see Mama, just for a few minutes for he knew we were busy.
He followed me to Mama’s room. She was surprised and pleased to see him. She then sent me to make sure my bags were packed . It was a few minutes later that I returned to her room to see what was to be done next. I opened the door to see Mama lying on the floor.
As I ran to her my senses were assaulted by the sight and smell of blood. It was everywhere. Even on her wedding dress which hung by her bed. I saw the knife in her chest. The sight imprinted forever on my mind. In terror I tried to help, but she stilled my hands and spoke, “Darling, never trust anyone and remember…to always be a Lady.” At that her grip weakened, her eyes closed, and she didn’t speak again.
I looked for him, but he had left. The police didn’t believe my account and ruled it a suicide. That’s fine; I continue to look for him. One day I will find him…and I will remember not to trust him and to be… a Lady.
Detective Razamatazz:
Detective Razamatazz.......Sleek, daring and somewhat deceptive works part-time as a detective in the cruel streets of New York.
She has had various odd jobs but detective work seems to be her niche at the moment.
Detective Razamatazz has had a colorful background and hopes this will aid in her endeavors to rid the cruel streets of crime and mayhem.
Says Detective Razamatazz in a brief interview..."I want scum off the streets and I will do it!" (cleans fingernails with a butterfly knife)....
Hmmmmmmmm well ok, let's rumble...
Detective Sir Gar:
So, you want to know about me?
What for?
Are you a busy body with nothing better to do?
Here's what you NEED to know in a nutshell. They call me Sir Gar. I'm a detective. I don't like thugs and don't really care for dames all that much. Both get you into trouble, whether you're looking or not. If you fall under one of those categories.....stay out of my way.
So far I've found a few dames who don't fit the same mold as ones like my mother. Those would be Lady Jas and Lady Zeugirdor. The others seem alright too, but I wonder about Oscar Meyer sometimes. That's why I joined forces with them at The Blue Pagoda.
Any more questions?
Detective Carolyn Spark:
Carolyn leaned back, the cracked café mug held close to her lips. She could taste the steam before she’d taken her first sip, its aroma sweeter than any coffee could ever be, but she didn’t wince at its bitter taste. After a lifetime of forlorn nights at Black Coffee Café she was used to it’s sting. The cafe had been the first place she's stumbled upon in that deep, dark city. Back all those years ago, when she'd been young, and idealistic, and beautiful. She had beauty still, but it was of a different sort. Instead of slender, and helpless, she was wirey, and menacing. Her hair had faded to a darker shade of brown, and was worn in a ponytail. She didn't even bother with lipstick anymore. Not unless she was trying to be charming.
Back on that night, when she had first entered the city, this cafe was where she took refuge. Though she had that in common with the self of her past, eleven years was a long time, and as her idealism faded and her tastes turned away from rasberry iced tea she returned more and more to Black Coffee.
Detective Ivy Barbie:
"Do you really think you can do this?" A tall, plump man with a salt and pepper colored toupee seated behind a glossy, maple-wood finished, cluttered desk inquired the young lady before him.
"Is there a problem, SIR?" The slender, mysterious, sassy woman snapped back.
"Uh, miss....uh....er--"
"Ivy...the name's Ivy."
Ivy...the epitome of beauty AND brains. The sexy, curvy princess had a thing for making her opponents master the art of dumbfoundedness. With a plethora of awards and honors--including Valedictorian and a cum laude English/Psychology graduate--Ivy can do more than just "talk the talk."
"Um, okay....er, Miss Ivy. I didn't, uh, mean to sound, like uh, you, um--"
"Couldn't do the job?" Ivy added with a hint of attitude.
"Well, er, I wasn't meaning it quite THAT bluntly. What I'm trying to say is, uh, with your, let's see, appearance, criminals will, geesh...have their way with you, you know. Um, you know this is a rather, duuuu, dan, dan---"
"Dangerous job?"
"Um, Uh..."
"What's the matter, SIR--cat got your tongue? Let me tell you a little something, SIR. I don't know what kind of twisted sexist, chauvinistic world you're living in, but this is the 21st century. Just because you see a gorgeous woman DOES NOT mean that she is to uphold a "footstool" position--eye candy for your infantile, primitive, perverted fantasies."
The man just sat there with a blank stare on his sunburned face.
"SIR, I could kill you with just a mere THOUGHT--you wouldn't know you were dead until you met face to face with the devil himself. " Ivy explained as she leaned on his desk, eye to eye with the man with the toupee.
"I'm going to go now, and let your fat butt sleep on the biggest mistake you just made in your life. Ciao!"
And then, she left.
The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair. He stared at his desk plate that read, "Warren G. Warner, Chief of Police."
Mr. Warner picked up the office phone and dialed. A scruffy voice answered on the other end.
"She came today. Just like you said." Mr. Warner said.
The sound from the other was very muffled, yet seemed pleased with the information.
"You think she's on to us? I wouldn't want THAT to happen. I mean, I could lose my job, my status, and the candidacy for mayor this year. I've got A LOT to lose here!!" Mr. Warner said with a panic.
The mystery man on the other end of the phone inquired about "plans." Something indeed was rather fishy.
"No, I still have the plans right here. They're on my desk right under the--"
Mr. Warner frantically scattered all the papers on his desk, looking for the "plans." The flushed-face cop put his hand on his forehead in shame. In a monotonous, spooked voice, he said,
"The bitch is indeed on to us." as he picked up a single posted note with lipstick on it where the "plans" should have been. The note read as thus:
"Gotcha!"
Ivy
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